Winter's Fires
by FrenchCaresse
Summary: Mavros winters at Montrève. "One does not bed the wolf with the sheep without consequence." Imriel intervenes. A scene of growth and love. Mavros/Imriel, light BDSM.
1. Collision

_Hi!_

 _A vacation with no internet meant I grabbed a couple paperbacks to dump in my bag. That is how I rediscovered Kushiel's Scion. And I remembered, how I had loved the verse and the characters. And it was just as good now as the first time._

 _This story first came to me five years ago. I was a beginning writer then, and the story slept, unwritten. I am very happy that it has come back. First person is intimidating to write, and Carey's style is very unique. I hope to do it justice._

* * *

 _This is a one-shot, with about four chapters. Set some imaginary time toward's the end of Kushiel's Scion._

 _Oh and this is explicit work. Will contain slash sex and power-play. Actually, this story is all about the sex, with a hint of character development. Which is pretty much my normal style. ;)_

* * *

...

It was inevitable, I see it now.

Betimes, I think I knew it then too. But I hoped, and pretended.

Mavros was wintering at Montrève.

It was an exciting prospect, in some ways. Memories of the time my cousin fostered with us were bright in my head, and, dare I say, among the staff of the household. It was much the same. Mavros sparkled, in our quiet country estate, dashing and mysterious. He charmed the maids outrageously, plied the cooks with compliments until he was given sweets and diced with the guards, winning and losing with equal grace.

I daresay he did considerable good for my mood, forcing me into long rides across the snowy countryside and recounting tales by the fire until I momentarily forgot my woes.

Mavros brought a much-needed breath of vitality to the small world of Montrève.

Yet he also carried danger. I could sense it, sometimes; a foreboding unease that shivered just under my skin. Mavros was unapologetically Shahrizai, though in Montrève he showed exceptional restraint.

For all his glamorous antics, my cousin never bedded anyone, that I knew of. And opportunity abounded, I am sure. I heard the whispers. People wondered, as simple folk will. Mavros evaded many a clumsy advance with a slanted smile and gentle words.

It forced reluctant respect into my heart. For all his light-hearted dramatics, the weight of being Kushiel's Scion grew heavier for him to bear as the weeks passed. Shahrizai are not meant to be celibate.

I knew.

And while I'm certain his self-imposed torment chafed at times, Mavros hid it well behind a rakish grin. The predator in him was tightly leashed, but it was there. Oh, I could feel it. The blood of Kushiel ran within me too. Some evenings, the distant beat of bronze wings made my teeth grind. Those were the times when my cousin was rather more quiet than usual. Shaking out his myriad braids, Mavros reclined and listened more than he talked, blue eyes dark and watchful.

Evaluating.

I rather thought he drank too much, until one late evening when I was tasked by Eugènie to refill our cups as needed. It was that night when I realized my cousin, for all he seemed to constantly have his long fingers wrapped around his wine-cup, did not drain it even once.

 _One does not bed the wolf with the sheep without consequence._

Joscelin knew it, glaring silently from across the room with crossed arms. Phèdre too.

Phèdre, just as the first time her domain was invaded by Shahrizai, remained more absent than usual. She was welcoming enough of my cousin's presence, because of his influence on me I am certain. Yet, she was... wary. There was a careful guardedness in her clear eyes that had not been there a few years ago when Mavros had first been here.

They avoided each other, out of some silent mutual agreement.

I asked her about it, on a night when she had retired early to her study, again.

I shouldn't have, mayhap. But... I missed her.

"We are what we are, Imriel." She responded peacefully. "Your cousin knows this too."

Her eyes sharpened and she did not need to remind me of that fateful morning when I had faced that same truth. No matter how I wished to forget, I could still feel the lurch of desire and the taste of rancid perry brandy.

She sighed, hair tumbling over her graceful nape.

"Sometimes, tis best to leave well alone."

I would not be satisfied.

"But what..." I began, agitated. "It's different. Something's different. Last time..."

I trailed off, frustrated by my inability to express confused feelings.

Phèdre, as always, knew me. She understood.

Her answer was simple, yet it made my blood run cold.

"Last time, Mavros was a child, with the simple wants of a teenager."

Her face was illuminated by the crackling fire in twisting shadows, rendering her eyes unreadable.

"Now... Now, he is a man grown." She finished quietly.

Phèdre turned her slender back on me and I knew then. Knew what she would not say. Last time, Phèdre had stayed away because she worried at my cousin's ability for self-control. This time, it was because she doubted _herself_.

I made a noise in my throat, feeling at once too hot and freezing cold.

It was my fault, for pushing. I didn't want to be angry at Phèdre, and still I was. Bowing stiffly, I forced myself to say "Thank you." Hoping she would understand that despite how upset I was, I was still happy she had been truthful.

The dark mirror, and the light. I had never been able to face either well.

...

It was simple bad timing that unraveled the carefully constructed balance that allowed peace to reign in Montrève.

Another few weeks had passed since my talk with Phèdre. It was late, on a night when a nasty blend of sleet and ice-rain pelted the windows with a sound like a thousand fingers tapping. It set my nerves on edge.

Mavros too, was restless.

How that turned into a silly chasing game with Clovie and her cousin Antoine, I do not know. But the fires sent shadows dancing in the corners and the house resonated with happy shrieks. We stalked them, me and Mavros, sharing a devilish smile. I had the advantage, knowing the house well and being trained in covertcy.

Blood roused, I pointed down one end of the long hallway, mimicking tiptoeing down stairs. I had heard the unique creak-thud of the wine-cellar door. The prospect of tracking our prey in the dimly lit tunnels of the basement multiplied our excitement. If we each took our own way, we could creep silently in the dark and corner them from two different directions.

Mavros was still looking over his shoulder when he set off at a light run, chuckling softly.

Laughing, he ran.

He ran.

Mavros ran _straight into Phèdre,_ who was exiting a doorway at that precise moment.

I heard the muffled thud of two bodies colliding. Hard. A crack, as some body part struck the wood door-frame.

The woosh of breath expelled suddenly from the impact, and then... Nothing.

I felt removed from myself, as I slowly turned back around in that eerily silent corridor.

I could not see much, half-way down the hall, and for that I am grateful.

I did not need to see.

Mavros' tall strong silhouette, his multitude braids hanging down to mid-back, dwarfed Phèdre's slim frame.

He was pressing her into the wall. Unmoving. As I watched, he took one slow step forward, pushing a leg between Phèdre's. As in a dream, I saw his hand wrap around her wrist, _hard_ , and lift her unresisting arm above her head.

Candlelight glittered on polished wood and it seemed to me the hallway undulated.

I beheld, in all it's terrible glory, Kushiel's Legacy fully awakened in my dark cousin.

I froze, deafened by the clanging of bronze Bells. Oh, Elua.

My manhood awoke, surging painfully in my breeches.

And then, somehow, the moment broke.

I will never know what deep reserve of will-power Mavros tapped to be able to push away roughly, taking a staggering step or two. I hurt. I hurt for him. I hurt for them. Someone made a broken sound, maybe me, and then my cousin stormed by me, too fast for me to see more than the terrible mask of strain on his face.

Phèdre whimpered and slowly sank to her knees. Some distant part of me knew that only her long years of training had kept her upright earlier. Had kept her from begging for more.

Without thinking, I took an unsteady step in her direction before I realized what I was doing.

Elua, no.

Whirling about, I glimpsed Joscelin appearing on the far stairway. What terrible things he read in my expression, I could not say.

Mind and body in turmoil, I went in search of my cousin.

...

* * *

 _This first bit is really short, but the story felt like it needed to breathe. Chapters with the actual sex scenes are usually insanely long..._

 _I welcome any comments, especially since this is a new fandom for me._

 _xxx_

 _French Caresse_


	2. The stillness in the storm

_Well, things are about to get interesting._

* * *

...

I found him in his room.

Mavros was cursing, straining at the window when I arrived. He worked feverishly, wrestling with heavy panes that were frozen solid to the sill. Just as I peeked through the door, a strong shove of his shoulder broke the frost and the window creaked open.

Pushing the twin panes as far as they would go, Mavros leaned out into the elements.

Fierce winter wind rushed into the room, snuffing out all the candles and making the fire flare wildly.

Unheedful of the biting cold, Mavros leaned outwards, braced against the window frame. His hair blew crazily and his clothing flapped, the weather like a thing alive battering him.

I am certain the tiny pellets of ice that continued to rain down stung his face something fierce, but my tormented cousin did not seem to notice.

He swayed there, chest heaving, until he began to laugh.

It startled me, and chilled my bones. There was an echo of the Markraghir's madness in the hysterical laughter.

I stepped into the room proper, closing the door behind me.

Mavros heard me, because he sobered instantly.

He spoke quietly, yet I heard his grave voice even over the wind that screeched around us.

"I held the greatest _anguisette_ of all times at my mercy, Imriel, and I did not take her. There is irony there, don't you think? A strong-blooded Shahrizai male, fleeing Kushiel's Chosen like a green sheperd." His chuckle this time was short and filled with rancor. I ached stronger, in a place I had not known inside.

"No." I composed my response carefully, not wanting to set him off and yet I couldn't let him think such falseties.

"Tis not funny. Tis... a tragedy."

"A tragedy, am I?" Mavros seemed to have regained some measure of sanity. At least, he shut the window.

"Then I suppose I shall have to settle for brooding the rest of this night then, right?" His eyes were mean and taunting as he turned to face me.

I did not answer.

He poked where it hurt, and on purpose. Remembering a boatman's fist as large as a ham, I knew why he did it.

Seeing I would not rise to the bait and be goaded into a fight, Mavros deflated somewhat. Leaving the window and the large dark patch of wet on the floor before it, he began to pace around the room.

His face was hard, controlled.

I couldn't help but admire the feline grace of his gait. Mavros was still very much on prowl, even if he was going nowhere. I moved carefully to sit on a hard bench by the desk, watching him. I did not think his pacing was helping his condition any, and I was right.

Eventually, he stopped with a mighty sigh.

"Ah, Imri. What shall I do?" The newly discovered spot inside me that hurt for him twinged. There was real anguish beneath the dramatic delivery of the question.

"It's been too long, Imri, I can't..." Mavros sank into a chaise, crookedly and with a knee hooked over the armrest.

"I can't." He repeated. "I can't just shove the urges back into a box and pretend. Not tonight."

The breath he took was shaky. My throat was tight.

"It's too much. I just.." Mavros trailed off, tilting his head back until I saw only the long sleek line of his throat and the sharp jut of his jaw. Posed like so, my fiery cousin grew still.

Too still.

Even from across the room, the little hairs on my arms were standing up with the intensity roiling from him.

Mavros was never still.

I stared.

It scared me more than I cared to admit. Mavros throwing fits and exhuberant tirades was what I had expected. What I was used to. Now, though, Mavros had turned himself into a statue. He sprawled, utterly motionless.

Mavros' harsh breaths seemed to echo in the too-still bedroom. He sounded like a wild animal, cornered and trapped.

 _He was._

It sickened me. Mavros was enduring this... because of me. I had no doubt that, if not for my sensibilities, he and Phedre would be reveling in unspeakable acts.

My cousin's forced stillness ate at me. Disbelief gave way to worry, then guilt. I would never have guessed Mavros possessed the resolve to draw himself inwards like this. Unlike Joscelin on the Longest Night, though, there was no cold peace here. Only desperation.

I fidgeted on my hard bench, resolving to stay by my friend no matter what this night brought.

...

For a long charged time, Mavros gathered himself. At last his head rose, arranged in a semblance of his usual cynical expression.

"Well, then." He said. "I suppose I shall have to get drunk."

Mavros launched to his feet and headed to the armoire. There was still coiled tension in his motions and the dark cloud over my head remained.

"It won't help." I blurted without thinking. It hadn't helped me.

"Name of Elua, Imriel." Mavros' voice cracked and he rounded on me, eyes like hard blue stones.

I recoiled.

" _I know_." Mavros snarled at me.

He whirled again, leaning his forehead against the armoire. I could see the muscles in his back jump.

"I know," he repeated, more quietly. "I don't need drink. What I need is a pretty Valerian adept kneeling before me. Or three."

He rummaged on the shelf above his clothes.

He sounded tired, so tired, when he concluded.

"Mont Nuit is leagues away, and there is to be no relief for me." He admitted.

Mavros turned to face me, depositing a heavy crystal decanter on the table with two rough-hewn wooden tumblers. It was an odd assortment and I arched an eyebrow, but Mavros did not notice.

His face was drawn, his eyes near black.

"Tonight, I drink. And tomorrow, I shall ask your pet Cassiline to tan my hide in a fight. It should please him well enough."

I ached some more, then. It was wrong, all wrong. Seeing my cousin grimly defeated was simply unnatural.

Mavros had not mentionned the easy solution. The natural one.

 _Love as though wilt._

I think he had genuinely not even considered it. It spoke more than any grand declaration of loyalty to me. Watching his sharp profile that night, I realized the depth of my own love for him.

I shook my head.

Maybe there was a fix for this hopeless mess.

Ignoring my discomfort, I tried to be objective, sifting through the members of the household in my mind. There were mixed bloodlines in Montrève. In some, the wild streak was stronger than others.

"There is the Guillemette's cousin, Noèmie. She... would take well to direction, I think."

Mavros blinked at me, startled.

Then he shook his head, making his beads clink.

"Namaah's Tits, Imri!" He whistled admiringly. "So you _do_ see, then."

I rolled my eyes, wishing I wasn't blushing. "Mavros."

Before his doubtful expression, I felt obliged to defend myself. " I am Shahrizai. Of course, I see."

 _I just don't act on it_ , I added silently.

"You are right.' Mavros dropped onto a small embroidered couch near me. "She is probably the best choice in these matters."

I rolled my eyes again. Of course she was. I _knew._

Mavros was tugging off one long boot.

"The problem." He said, huffing a bit trying to free his foot.

"Is." The boot thunked to the floor, followed by a sock, and Mavros started on the other one.

"That I will not inflict myself on an innocent, not like this." He finished in a rush as his other boot came off.

Mavros smiled happily, tossing his other sock so it flopped by the side of the bed. Satisfied, he wiggled his toes into the carpet and leaned back. His toenails, for reasons I could not fathom, were painted a deep blue so dark as to appear black. They fascinated me. It was hard to tear my gaze away and look at his face.

"Not tonight." Mavros said, his light tone contradicting the somber words.

"She has potential, that one, but she is untrained. And tonight." Mavris leaned back, bent knees spread. He exuded quiet authority, mobile face intense. My gut clenched. It was the same expression I had seen on him, that time at Valerian House.

"I have no patience left." My cousin finished.

I swallowed, voiceless. I beheld the simmering dark energy of my House that made Phèdre and the adepts at Valerian drop to their knees.

"No." Mavros lamented, oblivious to my unease, stretching languidly to reach the decanter.

"I am fated to drink myself into oblivion."

He splashed liquid into a tumbler. Twirling it musingly, he stared daggers at the rich brown liquor.

"I shall be frightful sick, tomorrow." He told me.

His eyes rose, limpid blue and twinkling with familiar humor.

"Kuseth liquor burns, going down." He lifted his tumbler, drained it and slammed it down on the table.

A droplet of amber caught the light at the corner of his wide lips. My breath caught.

Mavros winced, pink tongue peeking out quick as a snake to lick it up.

"It burns thrice as much coming back up." He said, filling his glass again.

I didn't know what to say.

Mavros winked at me, downing a second glass.

"Join me, cousin?" He asked.

I got up, in a daze, and sat gingerly on the edge of the settee. Mavros happily poured us each a lick of liquor, reclining indolent and taking up half the couch.

"You are going to nag again, are you?" Mavros prodded.

I opened my mouth, and closed it. I was.

Mavros laughed delightedly.

"Don't." he warned. "Unless you mean to heel for me, this is the best solution."

...

It was a jest. I knew it for one, heard it in his light-hearted tone and in the laughing curve of his lip.

It was a jest.

And yet, it opened a terrible pit of possibility.

I considered it. Would I heel for Mavros?

 _Could I?_

I turned my gaze inwards, troubled.

"Imri?" Mavros' tone was guarded, his eyes unsure.

"I was not serious." He told me quietly.

It was not a _No_. He was making sure things were clear between us.

"I know." I husked, voice rough and distorted.

Not _no_. Mavros wouldn't refuse me, if I really offered myself. There was no way he could. Bronze wings brushed my soul.

Mavros sat straighter, watching my face. Giving me space, yet staying near. Ready. My heart swelled. It was that which tossed the dice, I think. Mavros was trying so hard to be _good_ tonight. And Elua, how I knew that strain.

I was angry, suddenly. Angry with myself, with Phedre, with the situation. Angry with the Markraghir for stealing my childhood and my mother for betraying her country. I'd had enough of brooding.

That anger made me reckless.

And mostly, I trusted Mavros.

 _Could I?_ I questionned myself. Could I kneel at my cousin's feet and not get lost in my head?

I tried to picture it, and failed. The faint smell of the fetid waters of the Zhenana lurked, vaguely nauseating. The light brush of Mavros' fingers on my knee chased the memory away in a rush of heat.

Mavros waited.

Always ready to catch me, always ready to push me. Always by my side. Misguided, sometimes, in his actions, but always, _always_ meaning to help.

I was not sure I was ready to face my demons. The anger returned. I was not sure I would ever be ready.

I took a deep wobbly breath.

I trusted Mavros.

"Yes." I answered hesitantly, staring at Mavros' pressed leather breeches until they swam before my eyes.

He waited, silent and aware.

Until my eyes lifted to his. I drowned then, in blue so deep it caressed and submerged me. His eyelashes were very black, and I wondered idly how they might feel, fluttered against my skin.

"Yes." I repeated, more firmly.

I held still, caught in that mesmerizing gaze. I knew the moment Mavros let his guard down. Something changed in the way his head tilted, like a flash of quicksilver in his eyes. Mavros turned the force of the Shahrizai birthright on me. Twas strange for me to be on the receiving end. I felt the touch, burned by it's intensity, and relieved by it too. Mavros read my fault lines, scouring my soul deep.

I did not turn away. I stood naked in his fire, and I was not ashamed.

Mavros' eyes were too bright and he closed them. I breathed again.

"Good." Mavros' voice was low and tender. His hand rose to touch my tense jaw.

"There can be no hiding, if we are to do this."

At first, I did not gather his meaning, still riding the high of exposing myself. Then, I understood.

For a second, I did not dare.

I plunged. I regarded Mavros through my own birthright. His fault lines were pretty ordinary, considering. Prideful arrogance. Fierce dedication to family. A tendency to act impulsively. None of it surprised me, and yet the beauty of his soul moved me to tears. There was loyalty and love. A surprising amount of self-sacrifice and such a vast measure of caring.

I blinked, my eyes watery, and managed a weak smile.

He kissed me then, my cousin.

On the mouth.

A lover's kiss.

Not the violent passionate joining I had anticipated, but something tender and rich that turned joyful.

"Yes." My dark cousin nodded at me.

We were agreed, it seemed.

Mavros laughed in pure delight.

I joined him, giddy and excited.

 _Yes_.

...

* * *

 _I'm so proud of Imriel! And oh, Mavros is hot._

 _Expect a longer delay before the next chapter, and comment if you'd like!_

 _xxx_

 _French Caresse_


	3. Winter's Fires

_**Trigger warning** for mention of **past rape and PTSD**. Written for adults. Contains broken!Imriel and a light scene._

* * *

My exhileration faded at the same time as our laughter.

What now?

Frizzy grey panic filled me. What had I just done? Accepting to taste the darker pleasures, and with a man too! I doubted, ugly and gut-wrenching; doubted my sanity, doubted _myself_.

I swallowed hard. I had given my word. I wouldn't back out now.

I resolved to see this night through, my cousin deserved it.

Steeling myself, I straightened my back. When Mavros reached for me, I winced, hyper-vigilant with exacerbated nerves. I still hate to be touched.

I don't know what I expected. Mayhap to be flung across the floor by my hair, or ground face first into his still-swollen crotch.

I did not expect a gentle caress to my biceps and Mavros laughing softly.

"Oh, Imri." He said, in a voice gentle with mirth and also the vague note of tears. "Look at you."

I met his eyes then, blue and tender, feeling foolish.

"Tis not an execution." he chided. "Tis two consenting lovers about to play."

Something loosened within me. I made a face, blushing and incapable of uttering a word.

"Come here." Mavros beckoned and I shuffled closer. The room tilted when Mavros tugged me down, till I was lying sideways with my head in his lap.

I peeked up at him, at the different shape of his face from this angle. Slim fingers carded my hair and I loosened some more.

"We have all night." Mavros said it like a promise. My face heated.

My world shifted and stretched as he reached for our drinks, discarded on a low table. He resolutely emptied both draughts into one, handing the brimming tumbler to me.

I arched an eyebrow, still tongue-tied, and he mirrored me.

We both giggled and he explained "I need to keep my wits now, and you need yours a tad loosened. Drink."

" _Joie_!" I toasted under my breath. Drink. I drank, small awkward sips leaning up on an elbow. Mavros was quiet under me, his hands roaming over my body through my clothing. It was hard for me to fathom how he could be so relaxed, after hovering at breaking point minutes earlier, and I said as much.

He answered thoughtfully, rubbing shivery pathways down my back. " I, _we_ , will get satisfaction now. Tis comforting. I... have a goal now. I have trained in games of patience."

I understood, deep in my bones. His prey was caught. _Me_. Now the cat could play.

"I am very good, they say." He warned darkly. I gulped. Elua.

The tension, the want; it lingered, infecting me too.

Mavros handled himself with easy authority and uncomplicated arrogance. It thrilled and terrified me at once. Mavros knew to bide his time, luxuriating in the anticipation.

I tried to follow suit, lounging on the hard couch as the spicy smokiness of Kusheth liquor spread warmth in my belly

Mavros pressed my head to his thigh. I melted into him, into the rich scent of leather and sandalwood.

His fingers ran through my hair in silence, untangling. Then he carefully seperated a section to the side, and I shuddered at the tug-tug-tug of him braiding it. The liquor was making me languid and I sighed, aroused.

Mavros' voice was velvety, swallowed by the corners in our darkening room as he started on a second random braid.

"We must talk, Imri, before we start."

I tensed minutely, but my anxiety felt quite far away.

"Yes." I agreed, happy that my voice was steady.

"Your _signale_." He said, halfway down the braid. "Tis the same?"

I laughed a bit, and I felt his body shake beneath me.

 _Sunshine_. The only time a patron at Valerian had ever used a _signale_. It was something of a joke between us.

I nodded, feeling some of my hair crunch between my cheek and his breeches.

"Sunshine." I said firmly.

The word hung in the air, strangely grave.

Mavros parted another section of hair. I dreaded the next questions, but I kept still and focused on my breathing. Mavros plaited quietly for a while, tug-tug-tug, then asked "Have you any limits?"

I think, normally, the question would have affected me more. But I floated half-out of myself, draped over my cousin in a bubble of relaxation. I thought about it.

Mavros' fingers circled on my temple, then carefully picked up another curl towards the back.

"I." I licked my lips and my face grew hot. What could I absolutely not endure?

"No... pissing. Or... Or blood." It came out almost like a question, my voice scratchy. I tried to think on the concept better. What had been in the adept's contract again, that time I went to Valerian? Nerves muddled an already fuzzy memory and I couldn't remember the text, only the swirly signature at the bottom.

Mavros' hands stilled on my head.

"No piss or bloodplay." He repeated slowly. Expressionless. I couldn't see his face and his tone gave me no idea of his reaction. His thigh tensed and released beneath me.

Mavros resumed braiding, slowly, adding "That is all?"

I tried to apply what little I knew to be common limitations to my own self and I failed terribly. My ears resonated with pained death-cries and the lustful cackle that still chilled my dreams. The smells haunted me. Dank water and unwashed bodies, urine and semen and blood. So much blood. Sticky yet somehow slippery at once, beneath my bare toes. I coughed at the vivid memory, suppressing a retch.

I was slipping. Slipping, in my mind, losing my grip on reality. Going back, _fast_ , towards the zenana and it angered me.

"I." My voice was strange. The words spilled out, honest and brutal. "I don't know."

Once started, I could not stop it. Like an abcess lanced, ugliness oozed up inside my core.

"I have had it all done to me, Mavros, in Darsanga. And worse. I can't..." I stopped, frustrated.

"I never had a _signale_ when I needed one. I begged and begged and cried... " I was strangling myself on the words but I pushed them out.

"If Phèdre had had a _signale,_ she would have said it, _there_. And she is... Phèdre. I was just a normal boy." I forced myself to draw a shivery breath even though it felt like glass shards filled my throat.

"I do not know when I would use a _signale_ now. I don't know what will set me off. Name of Elua, Mavros. I'm not afraid of pain. It's the memories that terrify me." I panted, my tirade finished. I _hurt_. I curled tight around my knees, face hovering over Mavros' leg and my neck cramping.

Mavros' fingers returned to my hair, digging deep and swirling. It was a comforting motion and I yielded, stiffly resting my cheek-bone back on my cousin's warm body.

Mavros pressed a palm to the nape of my neck, heavy. Just _there_. Holding me. Grounding me.

I was so weary, suddenly. I blinked back tears.

"How old were you?" Mavros asked

"Ten." I whispered. Then, unbidden, the words escaped on a breath.

 _"Duzhmata, duzhûshta, duzhvarshta."_

A treachorous tear slipped from my right eye, unheeded. Then another, burning track that slid sideways.

"Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds." Saying it out loud made me light-headed and sick. I worried I might vomit. T'would not be the first time. My nose clogged and I tasted salt. My fingers tingled. More tears escaped my control as I unravelled. I locked my jaw, working to contain the darkness. So close. The past was so close, near to drowning my sanity. I fought the fever-dream, determined to stay in the moment.

Mavros' hand on my neck squeezed and released. It helped, giving me a point to focus on to prevent delirium.

He took a deep breath, then another. Accepting, I think. Calming himself from whatever emotion my outburst had created in him. I modeled my breathing on his. I was relieved not to see his face, grateful not to be burdened with his trouble. It is hard, knowing someone you love was hurt. I remembered Eamon's tears.

For a time, we simply breathed together, grappling with emotions too big to share. I closed my leaking eyes, then hastily opened them at the remembered massacre that painted itself on the back of my eyelids. After that, I held them open despite the burn, until my throat eased and it stopped hurting to swallow. I pushed the past down, in slow increments, compacting the slippery darkness inside me back into a manageable lump in my belly.

Finally, Mavros leaned forward, curling over me. He deposited a light kiss on my temple.

"Of a surety." He said. "Twas not _your_ ill thoughts, _your_ ill words, _your_ ill deeds."

My stomach swooped uncomfortably.

" _You were ten._ " he whispered, fierce.

My face heated. I would need to think on his words. It was not the reaction I had expected, and yet there was truth in them. My adult-self recognized it, even if my child-self cowered.

Mavros' large hand reached for my chin, warm, and he kissed me. His eyes were serene again, whatever emotion he had struggled with neatly put away.

"Thank you." He said solemnly. I shrugged uncomfortably.

I saw the spark light, in those depths. It anchored me back to this night.

"I shall ply you with pleasure. You have already known too much of the sharp edge."

"Oh, cousin." A deep tremor shook his body and his eyes simmered. "The things I will do to you..."

Mavros repositionned me in his lap then, tugging me up until he could kiss me properly. I did not know what to do with my hands. Mavros kissed well, passionately and with tongue. I was like a maid in his arms, twitching as my manhood responded. My cheeks were stiff with dried tear-tracks and Darsanga finally receded. I kissed back as well I could, but the position was awkward.

Mavros hands fondled me ruthlessly through my garments, and suddenly I was too hot. I clutched at Mavros' strong arms, gripping bulging muscles as he pulled away, breathing hard.

The world twisted again as Mavros pushed me to sit up while simultaneously dropping to his knees.

My mind was still trying to catch up when he smoothly pulled his shirt off and placed his hands on my laces. I groaned as his square-nailed fingers freed me and without ado his mouth enveloped me. My cousin performed the _languisement_ on me, with confident skills.

His strong tongue, and the warm wet heat of his mouth,oh Elua. Fevered, I watched him swallow my flesh, cheeks hollowed. I touched him as pleasure surged. Skidded my fingers over warm skin, felt the the corded tendons of his neck. I pushed at his hair when he licked my bollocks, making his beads clink. Some instinctive Shahrizai part of me urged me to grab a thick fistful of hair and _yank_ when the suckling sounds he made drove my need higher. I held back, dimly aware that I was pledged to obey, not the reverse.

So I touched Mavros lightly, fingers shaking; his face, his ears, and his chin. Traced his dark eyebrows with a thumb while I fisted my other hand so tightly in the couch my nails pulled painfully from catching in the brocade.

Elua, I drowned in pleasure, arching and thighs spreading as Mavros' dark head moved faster over me. I was beginning to ache, release building and I did not knowing what to do with myself. I shifted my hips, biting my lip. Mavros chose that moment to slide his teeth along my shaft, just this side of too much.

I spasmed, curling over with a hissed "Maaavros."

My cousin pulled off, his eyes dancing darkly over my pained expression

"Good?" He purred. His voice alone..

Chest heaving, I gathered myself.

"Aye." I responded.

"Good. Too good. Mavros." There was an unfamiliar whiny note to my voice.

Mavros chuckled, rising to his feet.

"Take your shirt off," he dictated.

Mindless with lust, I obeyed, watching as Mavros quickly pushed a log onto the embers in the fire-place.

Standing over me, Mavros unlaced his breeches and held his manhood by the base before my face.

I wanted.

His phallus was swollen, the tip wet, proof that he had enjoyed himself. He nudged at my lips and I opened instinctively.

I returned the favor, performing the _languisement_.

Mavros' flesh filled my mouth, his scent in my nostrils and it was still good, as I told him when he asked. Darsanga felt very far from our golden-lit haven. Mavros took prudent control of the interaction, his fingers laced in my thick hair, holding me firm. Unlike my hesitant motions earlier, Mavros directed unapologetically.

His hips pressed and released, and I let him fill my mouth. I stiffened at first, worried I might choke. I blinked, suppressing the memory of a dirty organ jammed in my throat until I lost consciousness, certain I would die.

Mavros pulled out, rich voice encouraging. "You are safe, Imri. _Trust_. So good." Mavros touched the head lightly to my lips, a silken kiss, and his breath hitched.

"Ah, Imri. You are doing so, so good." His phallus twitched near my cheek.

My own organ was still throbbing, unattended. My fingers petted my thigh, rubbing hard. I did not quite dare touch myself, remembering that I had given the reigns to Mavros.

My lust distracted me from the ghost of Darsanga, and Mavros noticed.

"You can touch yourself." He suggested warmly. "But no spending."

I nodded, moaning with my mouth full as warmth renewed in my loins. I dare say it was even better for Mavros then. Half focused on my own sensations, I grew less anxious of what my mouth was doing. I slouched, letting my lips stretch and trying to time the strokes of my hand with the lazy rocking of Mavros' strong thighs.

"Elua." Mavros breathed after some time. I looked up to see his face strained, mouth twisting as his body shuddered.

"You can take it all." He marveled, drawing back slowly and filling me again and my lust-clogged brain realized he was right. Once I had stopped worrying, I was letting Mavros into my throat easily, my tongue relaxed and saliva dripping off my chin.

He did not keep it there long, not long enough to trigger the fear of choking and memories of the markraghir.

I snapped my mouth shut, wiping my face and feeling vulnerable.

"I." My voice was rough and my words stopped as a wave of sickly shame began to swell.

Mavros bent at the waist, forcing me to stare straight into his eyes.

"No. Imriel, don't be an ass. Tis nothing to be ashamed of. Rather the opposite! You've been trained, that is all. And Elua..." He shuddered again, hand clenching on his shaft, hard. "The sensations."

"I wish I could show you." he said, with a characteristic toss of his braids.

"But I can't. Mayhap one of Namaah's servants could." His eyes were still wild and impressed. It made me self-conscious and proud at once. Twas a strange combination and I spoke to hide my unease.

"Actually..." I mused. " I was rather surprised by how well you perform the _languisement_. I thought twas the other way around, usually."

Mavros considered my question seriously. "For some Mandrakes, yes. But I like to switch things up in the bedroom, and tis a useful skill."

He dropped next to me on the couch. "Not all of my lovers have been into the darker pleasures" he said, rubbing his palm over the sparse hairs on his chest.

I nodded. Mine either, after all.

"So." Mavros said after a minute where we just sat side by side with our phalluses sticking out, disheveled and flushed.

"Would you like a taste of Kushiel, then, or just lovers it shall be?"

He did not try to push me either way, stroking my knee-cap.

"What about you?" I asked, wavering. " Weren't you..."

Mavros answered earnestly. "I am better now, calmer. It. I am not overrun as I was. Tis your decision, friend."

I tried to think. And found I couldn't. I lacked distance in this and the warm length of Mavros pressed to me, all along my right side, was distracting.

"I." I wrung my hands. "I don't know."

I flustered. "I can't. Mavros..."

He understood, my surprising cousin. I felt him evaluating me, and it made me shiver.

"Just a taste then." He pronounced.

I felt peace with his decision. Mavros poured me another half tumbler of liquor. I was feeling no effect at all from my earlier drink, but I took it anyway as he went to the armoire.

A worn leather satchel that he opened on the bed proved to hold a variety of play accoutrements. Mavros carefully placed on the bed-covers a polished-wood plug, a vial of oil, a small brown flogger as well as a coil of rope and what looked to be a paddle.

My stomach flipped and I hastily set down the untouched glass.

"Right." My cousin stood with his hands on his hips, back to me. I admired his trim silhouette, even as my mouth dried in unease.

He mumbled under his breath, liberally oiling the dark wood plug. His fingers were graceful and shiny.

I started shaking anyway, a fresh surge of unbidden memories clenching my heart and squeezing. The feeling of dirty fingers poking, of a baton ripping me open, of my flesh rending with excrutiating pain, of waking up with my thighs stuck together with dried blood. I couldn't breathe.

Too agonized to say a thing, I watched my cousin with cold sweat pooling at the small of my back.

Mavros pushed his pants down and bent a knee onto the bed. I blinked, uncomprehending, when his strong buttocks appeared and with a quick efficient motion the plug disappeared within.

I made a confused sound, I think, because he turned, jiggling his hips with a wince.

Catching a look at my face, he strode rapidly to me, breath huffing in uncomfortable puffs.

Cracked open, terrified and drowning in Darsanga, I couldn't look away. He held me, pressing my forefead to his sweaty stomach. I clung helplessly, feel his navel jerk as the plug settled.

"Tis for me," he whispered, too late.

Well. That particularly scar had just ripped apart to reveal an ugly puss-filled gash.

"You are not ready."

I nodded in agreement.

"I thought as much, but now I am certain." Mavros told me, petting my hair.

I nodded again. Fear had left me shivery and weak in its wake.

"Have you been... damaged... _there_ , Imri?" Mavros' voice was gentle.

I forced a jerky nod, the only answer I dared lest I crumble again.

"All the more reason. Mayhap Balm House would be a better choice for your first time than Shahrizai." He mused.

I made a non-committal sound. Mavros was not bedding me tonight. His pelvis twisted again and his hand clenched on my shoulder. I pulled back, finally looking up into his face.

"I thought... You... " I argued weakly. It did not fit, a Shahrizai who would take it. I knew my cousin was versatile but this...

The dark spark soared in my cousin's eyes.

"You think you will not be the one to beg, if I am the one riding?" My cousin challenged, or maybe twas a promise. Oh, what had I gotten myself into?

Mavros pushed the low side-table so it stood at the center of a free space.

"Undress, and on the table." Mavros told me, voice commanding.

I slanted a look at the bed but kept my mouth shut and did as bid.

He gave me an odd kind of grin, bending his knees a bit.

"If I'm to wear this... accessory..." He gave a lewd rotation of his hips.

"I mean to make the most of it. I wish to _move_." He told me.

While I got on all fours on hard wood, feeling vaguely ridiculous, Mavros loosely redid the laces of his breeches. He bulged obscenely and I _longed_ , unbearably. It took my mind off my scars that I knew to be on full display.

"Mavros. " My voice was gruff. He bent down in front of me, and I noted the slow blink. _Plug moving._ Elua _._

Mavros seemed almost joyful, watching me with his face too close mine.

"Mavros," I ventured timidly.

"Please, let me..." I stared at his pants.

"No." His response brooked no discussion. "Later. Tis a distraction."

My cousin straightened, radiating Kushiel's glory. It was in the way he stood, confidant and coiled, yet at ease. The firelight gleamed on his golden skin, his dark braids swaying as he circled me.

Evaluating. I blushed, skin prickling.

His finger traced down my spine.

"No rope, not tonight," Mavros reflected, and I was grateful. I listened to the familiar creak of old floorboards as he made his way to the selection on the bed.

And suddenly, terror swamped me. Again. Tortured cries echoed in the corners and the fetid water of the Zenana filled my mouth.

I trembled.

I was barely aware of Mavros in my side vision, a soft brown flogger trailing limp in his hand. He flicked it, casting moving shadows on the walls.

"Imriel." Mavros hand fisted hard in my hair, lifting my face. "Touch yourself. No spending."

I could hardly comprehend the words. And when I did, it was so foreign to the inner turmoil I felt that I nearly backed out of the whole thing. _Sunshine_. Cold grey light after months in the dark. I could do this. I would do this.

My first motions were self conscious, fumbling over my soft phallus. Mavros circled around me slowly. His hand touched me, running down my back, my shoulder, my buttocks. I felt awkward, balanced on one hand, aware of the jut of my elbow that moved.

I did not feel like a graceful adept, putting on a showing. I felt misplaced, but at least I was no longer terrorized. The room was clean and warm, my cousin gentle so far.

Mavros chose that moment to whisper admiringly. "You are so strong."

His hand pinched the meat of my shoulder. I was.

"Substantial." He added. "Different from the typical Valerian boys and girls."

I made an uncomfortable sound in my chest. It was true, all of it.

Mavros leaned over me to kiss my hot neck, beeds sliding cool over my upper back. I shivered.

"I like it." He rumbled, and I knew this was true too.

My pleasure was growing again, as my cousin prowled around me. Tension was lancing through my lower back and thighs, my shaft fully rigid in my hand. I was acutely aware of the little hitches in Mavros' breath, _plug moving_ , craving the random feel of his callussed fingers on me.

Mavros waited until I fair burned, worrying at my lip, slowing my strokes so as not to spend. _Trained in games of patience_. His fingers traced my rib-cage and I twisted with a helpless whine. Twas the only warning I got.

Suddenly the multiple ribbons of leather landed on my buttock. A hard swatting sensation that made me jerk with a cry. I lost my balanced and clutched the table, shuddering as the echo of the strike died and Mavros touch my cheek.

"Did I say you could stop?" There was warning in his voice and shimmering passion. Kushiel's scion. Bronze wings touched my soul.

"No spending." He repeated, making the tails swish.

It was not overly painful. And I daresay, balancing on one arm was not the easiest position. But Mavros took his time and I was stubborn and together we made it work.

I curled my hand around my hardness, tensing. I anticipated the next strikes. Removed from myself, I knew Mavros was sparing me. There was no pain, just a spike of sensation that pulled cries from me anyway.

I grew hot, so hot. My phallus throbbed in my hand, tension coiling in my belly.

Mavros' strikes were random, at first. One side or the other, or the backs of my thighs. Warmth spread over my skin and he got into a rythm. A steady swishing that left burning burning marks on me. The tails snapped and twirled, harder. I jumped every time.

The fire flared. My heart beat like a bronze gong in my ears.

My passion was growing difficult to control. I let sounds spill from my mouth, back arching as I swayed, anchored to the hard table beneath my knees. I gasped, feeling a thread of connection pull tight tight _tight_ , between us.

Mavros sped his flogging. There was pain now, not so much from the individual strikes but the slow building of an avalanche.

My testes drew tight, tighter. I loosened my fingers, which only made the urge to thrust unbearable. I soared.

We found a rythm, me and Mavros. As the flogger struck, _faster-relentless_ , I hardly touched myself, mindful I was not allowed to spend. As the strokes slowed, _harder white-hot,_ I dared fist my phallus tighter, feeling the hardened flesh throb with blood between my fingers. An unending cycle, fast then slow then fast that took me out of my mind.

Magros ran his palm over my fiery buttocks, slow circles that _hurt_.

I whimpered.

"Okay?" Mavros' voice was wrecked. I nodded, forcing a rough _yes_.

"More?" He asked.

I bathed in Kushiel's mercy, and it was glorious.

"Yes." I licked my chapped lips. "Please."

Mavros helped me up. I was surprised to find my legs cramping, the arm that had been supporting me tingling. I had not realized that our interaction was physically taxing. It was a light scene by Valerian standards, and a new respect for the adepts bloomed.

I trembled, standing awkwardly. My phallus stood straight out and I would have been ashamed, save that Mavros looked like he would devour me. He kissed me, hard, and bit at my lip.

Mavros handed a skin of water to me and I realized I was parched, pacing myself as I swished water in my mouth.

My backside was on fire. I calmed slowly.

Mavros was rummaging in his bag.

I turned to find that his breeches were unlaced and his phallus was out, swollen and purple as mine.

 _I wanted._

Mavros denied me. In a few deft moves, he wrapped himself with a leather thong, around and behind his bollocks.

I complained dully "Mavros." as he loosely laced the plackets of his breeches. I felt like a failure.

"Mavros." I said again. I considered calling him Master, as a true adept, but it seemed pointless. Mayhap Sir would be appropriate?

Mavros' knees flexed, a wide-legged movement and his abdomen drew tight.

Pleased, he smiled rakishly as he came to me. I was still tormented by his need.

He noticed my crestfallen look, because he touched my face.

"Oh Imri, no." He kissed me, light as a butterfly, on my nose.

"Mavros, I... Let me, please." I tried, disjointed.

"No." He kissed me soundly. "Later."

I hung my head. His hand curled around my manhood and I jumped. I was no Valerian. Following orders was not natural for me, especially when it seemed they prolonged the torture uselessly. I wanted to argue, to ignore him. If I pushed him back to the bed, I could catch him off-guard. Probably, once my mouth was on him, he would quit acting the martyr.

Mavros seemed to read my mutinous thoughts. He was good, my cousin, just as he'd promised. He explained his reasoning, which I am sure was not typical in Valerian. He did not seem to mind. We were too close to equals for a proper scene.

"Tis the blasted plug." Mavros' eyes were heavy-lidded. "It's stimulating in ways I am not used to. Distracting. I do not want to have to think about containing myself like a green boy still wet behind the ears, is all."

He licked my chest, biting at a nipple. "Will only be better later." He purred.

"But you hurt," I protested, my voice two octaves too high.

"So do you." he told me, stroking the tender stretched skin of my bollocks. "Tis the _best_ kind of hurt."

He was right, damn him. I did not want it to end.

His kiss was filthy and left us both dark-eyed and breathless. I did not argue anymore.

Mavros dangled another leather cord before me and I tensed, anticipating his fingers on my hardness.

Instead, I shivered and moaned wantonly at his hands in my hair. Mavros' eyes glinted evilly as he took his time, digging deep through my heavy curls, tugging just this side of too good and stimulating my scalp until I wondered if I heeded a leather restraint too.

My mouth lolled wet and parted, my eyes were rolling back and I shook with deep tremors, when he finally took mercy and tied my hair up in a loose knot.

"Sensitive?" He commented knowingly. I couldn't answer, trying to calm my body.

"Interesting." He mused. "If you let us braid it again, there is a salve that we can apply to your genitals. It increases blood-flow and it tingles. Mayhap you could release untouched, just from the congestion and the touch on your hair. Twould be fun to try, at least. We would need to tie your hands, probably. Tis excrutiating..."

He slapped, hard, at my bruised buttock and positioned me at the wall. Braced on my arms, my phallus bobbed unattended.

I stared down at it, as the flogger started again, this time on my upper back. I understood why my hair needed to be out of the way. There was a different flavor this time, a darker spice. With no hand on my phallus, the lust banked itself deep in my loins. The strikes were harder, smarting with a sound of flesh cracking. I noticed individual trails but it all blended into great ache.

My mouth fell slack and I basked, fully in the moment. I was _in_ my body, shaking. There was no trace of the zenana, there couldn't be. Only Mavros' labored breaths and the fire across my shoulders. I knew the sounds rent from my throat were pure decadence but I had no control over them. I longed for more, aware that welts crossed my back at the strikes now. It was not enough. I seriously considered begging for a real whipping. I could take it, I knew I could. I could fly even higher.

Mavros stopped. A minute, an hour, a lifetime later. I saw my desires mirrored in him, naked as mine.

"Beautiful." he whispered, licking at a welt. He shook his head, composing himself.

He led me to the bed, and for once I did not question anything.

I was light-headed, floating in a bronze dream. The bedcovers were rough against my hurt backside, but it did not diminish my ardor. I felt peaceful, watching Mavros peel off his sticking breeches. The thunk of the plug dropping onto the desk was nearly lost in the rush of blood in my ears. He fumbled with his leather ribbon, white-knuckled. He oiled us, and I wished I could see his fingers disappearing into himself but then he was rekindling my hardness. His hands shook and his eyes burned.

Mavros sank onto me and I screamed louder than during the flogging. Warm wet heat surrounded my phallus and it felt divine. My cousin held still, thighs wide over me. His face was hidden in shadow and his body glistened with sweat.

He made me beg then, just as promised.

Mavros rocked over me, slow and undulating. He was curled over, his hands pressing hard into my breastbone. I clutched at his hips, at the covers, at his fine-boned wrists. Our coupling was slow but heavy, hot and maddening. I arched, mindless. _Elua, it was good._

"Mavros," I pleaded, minutes later as my seed surged. He just rolled his pelvis slowly and bared his shiny wet teeth.

"Mavros, _mercy_." I did not know what to do with myself, splitting apart at the seams.

My lover grunted. He leaned forward, burying his slack mouth into the sweaty crook of my shoulder. My hips slammed up on instinct, rocking him. The sound he made electrified me further, made me dig my finger-nails into his flesh and do it again.

The balance of power flipped then. Mavros was helpless, unable to do else but gasp at the intensity ripping through him. I pistoned my hips, feeling a head-rush of domination. Kushiel's scions, _both of us._

We finished like this, me plunging strong and boiling into his tightness. My pleasure soared, gathering in my spine; resonating in my burning behind and scratched back, twisting up my thighs and finally locked into a scream stuck in my lungs.

I spent then, aware of Mavros' weak cry as his hand moved between us. The sudden wetness on my stomach accompanied Mavros clenching so tightly it almost hurt and emptied all the breath from my chest.

After, Mavros was heavy, curled on me. Too heavy, oppressive, and I began to feel vaguely sick. He pushed off warily, face closed. I was too spent to do else, watching as he wiped us both and made me drink more water. I rolled over at his demand, stretching. His fingers trailed the irritated skin at my back.

"Not that bad." he said. "I've a salve."

I mumbled.

And so I fell asleep with his hands stroking smoothly down my welted skin.

...

I awoke late morning. The sleet rain had stopped, replaced by dazzling winter-bright sun. I stretched tentatively. I was sore, but I'd seen worse. Mavros was face-first in the covers beside me, braids like a hundred ropes spread out. I lay awake for a short while, thinking, until he stirred. Pushing himself up on an elbow, my cousin smiled slow and smooth. It made my stomach clench.

"Morning." he husked with a pillow-line crooked across his cheek. Kushiel's scion indeed.

I laughed, joyous, and Mavros grinned.

"I am famished. Shall we see what nourishment we can find?" He asked.

I nodded, wanting to say more but lacking the words. He understood, my dark cousin. His hand rested on my arm, heavy and a bit sweaty. His eyes were proud, watching me.

Then he rolled over to sit and push to his feet.

I was idly watching. I saw his body tense, heard the soft hiss before he crossed the room to gather clothing from the armoire.

My blood stilled.

 _Sore_. My cousin was sore, even if, after the initial surprise, he hid it well.

"So." I jested. "I am better endowed than your previous lovers, am I?"

He froze. For one split second, Mavros was absolutely still, then he snapped his breeches up with some joke about my inflated ego.

I knew. With absolute certainety. Lazy motes of dust danced in a shaft of light.

"Mavros." I said.

He did not answer, sliding into a shirt with his back to me.

"Mavros." I said again, but he only lobbed a pair of small-clothes at my face.

"Mavros." A hint of firmness crept in then. A thread of authority. I would not tolerate his evasion, I was going to make him answer either way.

Mavros knew. He looked at me sideways, before sighing and confiming what I had guessed.

"There were no others, Imriel." He did not sound remorseful at all, chin jutting sharp and rebellious.

"But why?.. You should have told me, I..." I stuttered.

Mavros' eyes were phosphorous blue, clear and unashamed.

"I am Shahrizai. What do you expect. There was never any need to, before. Although perhaps now... That plug, it near drove me crazy while I worked on you." Mavros bit his lip. "I would not be opposed to trying that again."

My heart flipped and tumbled, regret and love. Of course, he wouldn't trouble me with such a small thing as his _virginity_. And yet, I could see his reasoning. Trying to gather the scattered memories, I doubted I could have acted differently even had I known. I would have tried, but last night had been a barely controlled fall for me.

Twas nothing to be done for it. I opened my mouth.

"Don't you dare apologize." Mavros snapped.

I shut my mouth.

No apologies. He was right. Last night was breathtakingly perfect.

I rose, determined not to over-think, pushing questions and worries of the future down, donning Mavros' all-black garments.

"So, what do we do for fun today?" Mavros asked.

"So long as it's not horseback riding... " he added wryly.

I laughed, unusually light-hearted, and he joined me.

He slung an arm over my shoulder and I did not even flinch. We went in search of something to break our fast.

Mavros and I.

Cousins.

Shahrizai.

Lovers.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think! I found this piece unusually difficult to write because of the peculiar style, but I am happy I challenged myself._

 _xxx_

 _FrenchCaresse_


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